An Alias By Any Other Name
by davros72
Summary: Crossover (sorta) with "Alias"


AN ALIAS BY ANY OTHER NAME  
  
An odd crossover between the worlds of "Alias" and "The Secret Adventures of Jules Verne"  
  
******************************  
  
Sydney Fogg walked briskly through the entrance of British Secret Service Headquarters. She was on her way to a meeting with her superior, Sir Jonathan Sloane, and therefore did not visit briefly with her fellow agents as was sometimes her wont. Instead, she went directly to Sloane's office, her beautiful black dress shooshing softly as she walked.  
  
Upon reaching her destination, Sydney knocked and awaited a response. Hearing none, she knocked again, which this time elicited a curt "Come in." She entered and crossed to the desk.  
  
Sloane was seated behind his large wooden desk, looking pensively at a small portrait in his hands. Finally noticing Sydney's presence as she sat down, Sloane smiled at her and set the portrait aside. "Miss Fogg," he said. "Thank you for coming in at such short notice."  
  
Even as she smiled back and replied, "Of course, sir," Sydney could not help but feel uncomfortable. Sloane, with his short grey hair and his ever-present stubble, always gave her an odd, creepy feeling. It was nothing she could precisely pin down just yet, but it was unsettling all the same.  
  
"Something's come up," Sloane was explaining. "A mission."  
  
"I see."  
  
"You will be going to Paris," the creepy little man continued, pushing a file folder across the desk towards her. As she picked it up and leafed through it, Sloane detailed her mission.  
  
"A contact of ours has learned that French Intelligence has come into the possession of another Rambaldi artifact."  
  
"Rambaldi?"  
  
"Yes, Milo Rambaldi. The same man who crafted the Clock that your cousin Jack Fogg had collected some years previous. It turns out that France has decided to study this new artifact and keep it for themselves. We want it."  
  
"I understand."  
  
Sloane stood up and walked around his desk to stand before Sydney, who likewise got to her feet. Reaching out to affectionately touch her shoulder, Sloane looked into Sydney's eyes. "It is imperative," he stressed, "that we recover this object intact ourselves."  
  
Uneasily, Sydney smiled back, still chilled by the man's touch.  
  
*****  
  
The beautiful lines of the airship Aurora were visible above the treeline as Sydney approached the craft. As she walked, she thought about her mission, absent-mindedly tucking her dark black hair behind her right ear.  
  
Her task was to infiltrate the headquarters of French Intelligence, make her way to the vault, and steal the Rambaldi artifact. The object in question was apparently a small brass sundial. However, as with any Rambaldi item, it was most likely quite a lot more than simply a timepiece. The rumor that the French had actually been given the object by Countess Irina, the Matriarch of the League of Darkness, was very disturbing news, indeed.  
  
As if she didn't have enough to worry about.  
  
Stepping inside the elegantly appointed airship interior, Sydney gazed around the main cabin. She stiffened slightly as she spotted her older cousin, Jack Fogg, seated at the cabin's table. Tall, strong, with a grim countenance and short grey hair, Jack looked calmly back at Sydney as he glanced up from his drawings and plans.  
  
"Jack," Sydney said flatly.  
  
"Sydney," her cousin replied just as evenly.  
  
"Hello, Agent Fogg," another, livelier voice called out, and Sydney turned. Upon seeing the new speaker, she smiled kindly. Marcel, Jack's valet, smiled happily back at her. "It's good to see you," Marcel continued anxiously. "Another exciting adventure? More bad guys to, uh, beat? Not that they, um, don't, uh, necessarily deserve it, uh, you know. I mean, well, they do. But, um, you know..."  
  
"Marcel," Jack said curtly, narrowing his eyes at the excited little man.  
  
"Yes, sir," Marcel said hurriedly as he turned and walked over to the airship's main controls.  
  
Sydney crossed the cabin and sat near Jack. Outlining her mission quickly, Jack nodded, considering, as he cast his gaze over the plans set out before him on the table. He made a mark on one of the papers.  
  
Irritated that he did not seem to paying her enough attention, Sydney frowned and said firmly, "Jack!"  
  
Her cousin looked up distractedly. "I think I'm finally at a breakthrough here. You remember, my plans for a new type of ocean-going ship. This vessel will carry a tremendous amount of passengers on a regular basis in a comfortable, elegant, and massively powerful craft. I believe I shall call her... 'Gigantic'!" He smiled proudly.  
  
Pausing briefly to shake her head, Sydney pressed on. "Jack, did you hear anything about my mission?"  
  
Jack looked up from his drawings, his smile dropping from his face, replaced instead by his usual icy visage. "I did indeed, Sydney. And I have my suspicions."  
  
"Such as?"  
  
"Such as what Countess Irina is up to."  
  
Sydney began to shake her head again. "Jack..."  
  
"Sydney, listen to me. This creature is evil. She will do anything if it serves her ultimate goals. She is *not* to be trusted. The mere fact that she simply handed this device over to the French is suspicious in the extreme. There is more to this than is readily apparent."  
  
"I know that, D-- I mean, Jack," Sydney countered. "But it's still my mission. I have to do this. I know how to handle myself."  
  
Jack just nodded, his uncertainty still clearly emanating from him as he turned back to his plans.  
  
Sighing, Sydney stood up and walked over to Marcel. She smiled. "Marcel?"  
  
"Yes, Agent Fogg?"  
  
"Set a course for Paris, France."  
  
*****  
  
The Aurora was floating low over the rooftops of Paris. She skimmed mere inches above several buildings as she neared her objective. The French Intelligence Headquarters building loomed ahead.   
  
Sydney was preparing herself and her equipment as Marcel went over her new item one final time.  
  
"So, in essence," Marcel was saying anxiously, "this part, uh, listens to the inner workings of the lock, kind of, like, you know, when you press your ear up to the wall to hear, you know, what's going on in the room next door, although sometimes you hear way more than you, uh, would want to... Anyway, then this part here... uh, here. This part turns the dial in response to what the, uh, ear hears." He handed over a small silver box, about five inches square, with a recessed opening on one side, and one round pad attached by a flexible cord.  
  
Sydney thanked Marcel and slipped the box into one of the many pockets on her black, skin-tight leather catsuit.  
  
"OK," Marcel said hurriedly, "get ready." He dashed back to the controls, smoothly guiding the airship as it approached their target. Sydney opened the side door, priming herself to jump. As the rooftop slipped under the ship, Sydney tensed, then leapt from the Aurora. Tucking and rolling, she came up smoothly to her feet as the craft glided off as if nothing suspicious had happened.  
  
Sydney worked her way down into the building from the roof, avoiding any security patrols she came across. Eventually she came to a large, wooden door. Taking out a set of tools, she made quick work of the lock and snuck inside, locking the door behind her. She turned on a light and moved swiftly to the large steel safe embedded in the far wall. The dark green surface gleamed at her dully.  
  
Marcel's lock-kit was quickly put in its proper place over the dial to the safe, and the round pad was affixed just to the right of the dial in order to detect the tumblers within. Sydney pressed a switch on the side of the kit, and it began its task.  
  
Several tense moments passed, and Sydney waited impatiently, looking over at the locked door every few seconds. Presently, the device made a final click, and shut itself down. Sydney moved to the safe, removed the lock-kit, twisted the dial, and pulled the heavy door open. The Rambaldi Sundial was sitting right before her on one of the shelves inside the safe. Sydney quickly swept it up and stashed it inside one of her outfit's pouches.  
  
Closing the safe and spinning the dial to lock it once more, Sydney turned to head for the exit. She stopped as she heard another new sound. A click. Then another click. A greenish mist began billowing from the ceiling as Sydney rushed to the door. She scrabbled at the lock, her focus swimming as she felt herself becoming quite drowsy.  
  
As Sydney fell back, she heard the door open and several figures stomped inside. She also heard the sinister, silky laughter of a woman reverberating around her mind. Her head hit the floor, and Sydney lost consciousness.  
  
******  
  
As she clawed her way back to wakefulness, the Fogg lifted from her mind, and Rebecca Bristow jolted awake. She was lying on a simple metal frame of a bed, in a stark, well-lit prison cell. A quick look around and a check of her outfit confirmed that she was weaponless, and also that the Rambaldi Sundial was gone. Even her miniature communications equipment had been confiscated. Well, that was to be expected, after all, she thought to herself. A small video camera watched her every move from its vantage point up in the ceiling.  
  
Rebecca frowned angrily as she hopped off the bed, moving determinedly to the single, gun-metal grey door that was the only other feature of the room apart from the bed. Locked, of course. Rebecca thumped her fist against the wall in frustration.  
  
Almost as if in response, the door swung open, and four burly guards rushed in. Each man took a limb, and together they hauled Rebecca out of her cell and down a dark corridor. They eventually came to a dank, dark cellar. Throwing their victim into a rough steel chair, the guards strapped Rebecca down. Two of the men suffered nasty bite wounds from Rebecca, but the only response they gave was evil laughter. Once she was secured, the guards rumbled out of the room.  
  
Rebecca did not have to wait long. Soon enough she could hear a sound, an odd hissing and sparking sound. As she expected, Doctor Gregory, in his ugly, disfigured form, rolled into the room in his wheelchair. Gregory paused once inside the room, smiling at Rebecca.  
  
"Do your worst, Doctor Gregory," Rebecca spat. "I have nothing left to lose."  
  
As Gregory wheeled closer, a number of implements shifted on a tray affixed to his wheelchair. His eyes bore right into Rebecca as he replied, "That is not quite true, Miss Bristow... You have teeth." He picked up one of his tools, a primitive-looking vise grip. His evil, dark smile widened further as he moved ever nearer to Rebecca.  
  
She leaned back in the chair, causing Gregory to move even closer. Once he was right where she wanted him, Rebecca thrust with her feet, tipping herself back in her chair, her knees slamming into Gregory's arm and the tray with his instruments. Gregory growled as the vise grip flew from his hand, and various other implements likewise scattered.  
  
One of those flying items landed neatly in Rebecca's open palm. She caught the small dentist's drill, switching it on quickly. She angled it just so in order to slice through the strap holding her hand to the chair. Once her right arm was free, she shoved Gregory viciously, sending him and his wheelchair crashing into the far wall. Rebecca made quick work of her other restraints, stood up, and threw her drill and her chair at the enraged Doctor Gregory, who barely managed to swat them aside.  
  
Leaving the fuming Gregory behind her as she fled, Rebecca ran hard down the corridor. Reaching the end, she crashed through the door and found herself at the base of a stairwell. She began climbing them quickly, eventually reaching the top and flying out into another corridor as alarms began blaring throughout the building.  
  
A white-coated lab technician walked outside a nearby room, curious as to the cause of the furor. Luckily for Rebecca, he held the Rambaldi Sundial in his small hands. As she flew past the technician, she plucked the Sundial from his grasp, throwing a breathless "Thank you!" his way.  
  
Once she had shoved her way past several more surprised guards, Rebecca broke out of the building and into the crisp, cool air of a Parisian morning.  
  
*****  
  
The emtpy, echoing warehouse was barely lit, apart from one corner in which a bright light shone. In this corner, talking in hushed voices, stood Rebecca Bristow and her CIA handler, Jules Vaughn. Rebecca smiled demurely as Vaughn went over her countermission with her, her gaze drifting lazily over his adorable features, and his dark hair.  
  
"Now that we have the real Rambaldi Sundial, thanks to you," Vaughn was saying with a shy grin, "we want you to take this fake sundial back to SD-6. It looks just like the original, as you can see. But whatever the secret function of the real one is, the impostor has nothing. SD-6 gets damaged goods."  
  
"Excellent," Rebecca said, taking the fake item from Vaughn. She paused, and Vaughn, misinterpreting her hesitation, reached out and gently touched her shoulder.   
  
"Hey," he said gently. "Don't worry. This is working. We are bringing down SD-6, you know we are. And it's mostly thanks to you."  
  
Rebecca looked up, smiling as Vaughn shoved his hands in his pockets. Best not to say what she was really thinking, she thought to herself. Instead, she simply replied, "Thanks."  
  
*****  
  
"Good work, Agent Bristow." Arvin Chatsworth, the head of SD-6, looked over the file before him, a thin smile slightly brightening his round, full face. "once our scientists examine this device more thoroughly, I'm sure we will have a much better understanding of Rambaldi and his greater intentions." He smiled at her as they sat across from each other in his office.  
  
Rebecca merely nodded, saying nothing. It was difficult for her to maintain a conversation with this man. There were things about him, things he had done, that she simply could not countenance. But her role as a double-agent forced her to endure situations she would much rather avoid.  
  
Chatsworth stood up and walked around his desk, placing a comforting hand upon Rebecca's shoulder. It was all she could do not to flinch at his touch.  
  
"Thank you, Rebecca," Chatsworth said warmly.  
  
Rebecca stood up, causing her superior to withdraw his hand. She smiled uneasily at him. "It's my job, sir." With that, she turned from him and left the office.  
  
As she walked out into the main area, she noted Phileas Bristow, her father, watching her stoically from across the room. She quickly looked away, instead walking briskly to her desk.  
  
Rebecca sat and turned on her computer. Footsteps behind her made her tense up, and she saw Phileas' reflection in the monitor. His black and grey hair matched his dark suit and tie perfectly. Even his clothes were dull and lifeless, she thought to herself.  
  
"Rebecca," Phileas said calmly.  
  
"Father," Rebecca replied coolly, logging in to her terminal.  
  
"Rebecca, I... just wanted to say congratulations. I heard about the mission."  
  
"Father, could we possibly discuss this another time? I have a lot of work to catch up on."  
  
Phileas nodded. "I understand." Without another word, he turned and walked away.  
  
Rebecca winced slightly and continued typing.  
  
*****  
  
Phileas Bristow paused at the entrance to his office. Before he went in, he cast his gaze back to his daughter Rebecca. She sat at her computer, working diligently at some report or another. From time to time, she would absent-mindedly tuck a lock of her lustrous red hair behind her ear. Just like her mother.  
  
Phileas sighed, weighed down by the burden of the secrets he kept inside himself.  
  
Yes, Phileas Bristow thought. Rebecca was so very like her mother, in many ways.  
  
And that is what worried him most...  
  
...THE END 


End file.
